


before the world catches up

by negativelyme



Series: collar full of chemistry [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Beta Stiles Stilinski, Courting Rituals, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mating Rituals, Minimal Bullying, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negativelyme/pseuds/negativelyme
Summary: Stiles is a beta, so he’s never been a part of the annual Winter Mating Rituals that take over his high school.Or so he thinks.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: collar full of chemistry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646230
Comments: 46
Kudos: 1124





	before the world catches up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iknowitsthere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iknowitsthere/gifts).



> Title from the song [Collar Full](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZAIEAG6Vgk) by Panic! at the Disco.  
> (I highly recommend listening to it because it's super cute and totally represents these two dorks.)
> 
> the first requested story I got, and well..  
> almost 8,000 words later... you can say it kinda got away from me
> 
> truth be told: I fucking love this prompt. the dumbest most oblivious stiles ever, awkward derek, and courting rituals? sign me up!!
> 
> **content warning in end notes**
> 
> End up liking the story? Request your own [here.](https://forms.gle/PZv8BVJnMgPRJPqUA)

It’s days like these when Stiles regrets waking up and coming to this damn school. It’s not that he doesn’t like learning new things or seeing his friends. No, it’s the fact that everyone is starting to _match up_. As in, the students are _literally_ starting to court each other for the upcoming winter. 

Like now. An alpha, judging by his imposing stature and strong gait, is hiding around the corner and watching this demure omega approach her locker. Stiles has half a mind to warn her of whatever he’s planning, but then she’s opening her locker and a mouth-splitting grin appears. Her fingers wrap around a bouquet of flowers, nose twitching as it sniffs the petals in front of her face. A blush tinges her cheeks, and her eyes dart around, looking for the person who sent them.

Stiles doesn’t stay long enough to see their eyes meet and hear the angels sing.

It’s predictable enough. Honestly. 

He’s already seen three different displays of courtship in the past thirty minutes. They’re all the same. A doting alpha latches on to an available omega, gifts are given, and usually, the match lasts.

It’s all very happy and romantic and dandy and fairytale-like.

So why the fuck is he so pressed about this annual affair?

Because he has never been courted, nor will he ever.

Look. 

It’s not that Stiles isn’t attractive. He likes to think that he’s cute enough to attract some attention. And he’s definitely smart. Second in his class, thank you very much. 

Granted he’s behind Lydia, but she’s an honest-to-god genius. And a hot alpha to boot. So she’s a whole breed in and of herself.

He’s also pretty funny. Well, sarcastic. He can make a decent pun every now-and-then, okay?

The reason he’s never been courted, which he’s accepted at this point, is that he’s a beta.

Leave it to Stiles to be the most unique breed out there. Of course he couldn’t be normal. Of course his genetics decided to curse him with being _special._ Honestly, it wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t weird. But people still look at him like they don’t know what he is. He doesn’t fit into any binary. Hell, even his sexuality is up for interpretation. Stiles, just, doesn’t fit in anywhere.

Which is why he’s never dated, or been courted, or anything of the like. Not for lack of trying.

Yes, he’s had crushes. Yes, he’s pined and fallen hard and fast. But, no one has ever attempted to make it official. He’s never even gotten a gift. Their group makes fun of him enough, but even Stiles knows that they don’t mean it. They all know how much Stiles is struggling to find himself in this chaotic world. Which is why they don’t rub their relationships in his face, either. They try not to, anyway. The beta has to constantly reassure them that it’s okay to be with who they want to be with. Don’t let the poor, single beta stop them.

“Stiles, do you think she liked it?”

Stiles has to refocus in on his best friend because he has absolutely no fucking idea what he’s talking about.

“Excuse me, Scott, what are you on about again?” He finds himself sitting next to his friend, shrugging off his bag so it lands next to his seat.

The alpha wrings his fingers through his hair. Stiles has known him for seventeen years, and he hasn’t looked this nervous since he first presented. It was extremely traumatizing for him. One day he’s fine, the next, he’s popping a knot in the middle of chemistry. Stiles would be lying if he said he didn’t take an obligatory picture on his phone. It popped up every time Scott called him. Wonderful.

“Allison. Winter. Gift,” he grits out frantically.

“Oh, right,” he murmurs as he slides his notebook out of the backpack and lays his pencils next to it. 

Scott grunts for the second time, and it’s only when he looks like he’s about to lose his shit, that Stiles responds. “I’m sure she loved the chocolates, Scott. They’re her favorites.”

“But what if I didn’t get enough? I have to give her the final gift by the end of the month! What if she rejects it? Oh god, what if she does it in public? Oh fuck, she’s going to hate me. She’s gonna think I’m a knothead. Fuck, I’m so screwed. I’ll be single forever. I’ll be an alpha with no omega. That’s the _worst kind of alpha._ Yanno, besides the dickheads that think they’re better than everyone else. Wait. What if I’m worse than _them?_ "

“Scott!”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, okay.”

This is something he wish he didn’t have to do. Especially at the beginning of the school day, in homeroom, no less. But, he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t care a little bit. His best friend was struggling with his love life, and even though Stiles didn’t have one, he would be the _worst_ best friend if he didn’t at least _try_ to help. No matter how much it pained him.

“Allison likes you _so_ much dude. Like a ridiculous amount. You’ve been on a date already. I’m sure she’ll happily accept the chocolate and then _your_ chocolatey goodness.”

Scott’s face does this scrunched-up look of disgust before responding, “You’re right. Gross. But right.”

Stiles nods to himself and gazes over at the whiteboard. Incredibly happy to see a chemical equation and not a declaration of love.

~

It’s safe to say that by lunch, Stiles is both extremely annoyed with his classmates and extremely content to eat his turkey sandwich. He made this sandwich with mustard, pickles, and love. It was certainly a proud moment for the beta. Nothing would dull his happiness, especially not his love-struck friends who all saunter over and sit at their table.

As per usual, Erica and Boyd are all over each other, Scott and Allison are making not-so-subtle googly eyes at each other, Lydia and Jackson are fighting with increasingly-disgusting sexual aggression, and Isaac is looking lovingly at his chicken tenders. 

It’s reminiscent of _The Last Supper_.

Would that make Stiles the notorious Jesus, then? Probably.

Stiles is about to bite into his beautiful bread and meat creation when somebody puts a cupcake directly in his line of vision. It manages to stall him for only a second. He takes a bite of the sandwich anyway before noisily chewing and placing it back on his napkin.

The beta’s eyes trail up before meeting Derek’s. He fucking chokes on the food in his mouth. Legit has to swallow down gulps of water to help him from _dying._

The alpha’s eyebrows soar up to meet his hairline before he’s thrusting a new napkin in Stiles’ direction. He merely groans before taking it and rubbing his mouth and mumbling a ‘thanks.’

Everyone is kinda just staring at the two of them now, and if it weren’t for the fact that Stiles almost died, he would’ve questioned it. But he _did_ almost just die, and he’s really not in the mood to figure out why his friends’ faces are doing _that._

“I know you like strawberry, and hazelnut, so,” the alpha grumbles before gesturing to the dessert now encompassing all of Stiles’ attention. 

Derek Hale. Brought him a fucking cupcake. The alpha of Stiles’ literal dreams _brought him a cupcake_. No big deal.

“Thank…you?” Words trailing off as his eyes look over the alpha. He seems fine. Granted, he has this constipated look on his face, but that’s normal. It’s the exact face that Stiles has liked for 10 years, so yeah, normal. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, and he looks more in pain than anything else. 

Still attractive, though.

The alpha kinda just grunts and stands still. What is he waiting for? This isn’t really normal behavior, and Stiles isn’t really in the best of mindsets to be dealing with this freaky display of whatever-the-fuck-is-going-on. So he does the next best thing and takes a small bite of the cupcake before smiling and making a humming noise. It _is_ a good cupcake, his taste buds thanking him.

Derek must take this as a valid response because he saunters off to nowhere in particular.

So that just happened.

~

Stiles is home alone the following Friday night doing his calculus homework when he hears a _thunk_ at his window. He elects to ignore it in favor of completing the multi-variable differential equation that has been bugging him for the past ten minutes when the sound becomes more insistent. 

Still thinking it’s nothing, he scribbles down a few numbers, plugs them into a calculator, and curses himself for not figuring it out earlier. Math is by far one of his greatest subjects, something he looks forward to exploring more in college.

It’s only when the window vibrates that Stiles thrusts himself out of his desk chair and over to his window, where he unlocks it and pushes it upward, placing his hands on the windowsill. If it weren’t for the porch light that partially illuminates this side of his house, he wouldn’t be able to see the disgruntled alpha that is currently standing awkwardly with one hand in his pocket and another holding what looks like a stereo. 

Who carries a stereo anymore?

He has half a mind to tell Derek to fuck off and let him finish his work, but as he realizes that it isn’t that late, and he has at least another two hours before he has to sleep, he figures he’ll entertain whatever-the-fuck is happening.

“And why are you here?”

The alpha shuffles and looks anywhere but Stiles’ face, clenching his jaw. “Music. People like music.”

“That they do, wise one. But, why are you _here,_ at my house, with a _boombox?_ ” Honestly, this whole scenario is fucking strange.

“It’s not a boombox, Stiles.”

“Same thing.” The beta takes a moment to think about the fact that Derek actually knows his name. Granted, he’s known him for a decade, but that’s because Stiles has pined over _him._ The beta literally thinks about him on a daily basis, especially in bed, with his dick in his hand. 

But Derek just said _his_ name, and he’s really lucky that his crotch is covered by the wall, and Derek can’t see him. Because that would just be _embarrassing._

“But seriously, why are you here?”

The alpha merely grunts, presses play on the stereo, and holds it over his head. Out of every song that Stiles can possibly think of, what comes out of the speakers is so far from expected that he actually ponders what the fuck the alpha is doing.

Because what starts playing is _Stayin’ Alive_ by the Bee Gees. Literal disco music. Fucking _disco music._

Okay, _what?_

Stiles is about to question this when he takes a closer look at Derek. The alpha is still awkward, like always, but his gaze is focused intently on Stiles, like he’s looking for a reaction. Stiles has enough dignity to smile and nod, giving the alpha a thumbs up. 

Derek, in turn, seems to perk up and hold the stereo with more confidence, a look on his face that could possibly be a… smile?

Well, that’s definitely new. And adorable. Stiles thought he couldn’t possibly fall harder for the alpha, but honestly, nothing shocked him anymore.

So as he listens to this alpha play disco on his completely-outdated stereo, he figures he may as well enjoy it. Despite the fact that it is literally the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him, he knows that it’s a happy break from his homework. It’s probably a prank or a social experiment, but honestly, Stiles doesn’t care what it is. He’s going to enjoy it.

A few minutes later, the song ends, and before Stiles can say _thank you,_ the alpha curtly nods and saunters off, stereo on his shoulder and an expressionless look on his face.

Well, all right. Back to calculus.

~

The air is crisp and sun warm on his skin. Stiles is eternally grateful for the fact that their group gets to do this every month. Finding a day that works for all of them is always a struggle, but once they do, it’s a pleasant time—with everyone bringing a dish they either cooked or scrambled to buy at the last second. 

Then it’s a matter of claiming their usual spot at the park, laying down a few picnic blankets, and deciding who creates the playlist. Stiles is lucky enough to say that he was chosen this time.

Which is fucking awesome.

Because he got to smother his friends in all his favorite early 2000’s pop rock bands. It’s a mystery that his friends haven’t left him yet. Really. It is.

The beta is casually laying on the black and white blanket he brought, legs crossed in front of him and arms planted behind him. He’s basking in the sun and listening to Scott bicker with Lydia over who brought the better potato salad when it suddenly goes dark.

“Hey, where did the sun go?” Stiles blinks his eyes open, looking up. “Derek?”

Said person grunts, unmoving.

Stiles decides that he’s just having a weird week and to pretty much go with it at this point.

“Do you, uh, wanna sit down?”

The alpha responds by doing just that, a stoic look still on his face. The beta has to admit to himself that the way his eyebrows scrunch together in thought is seriously one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen. In fact, the alpha is probably the most attractive—no, he _is_ the most attractive—person that Stiles has ever laid eyes on. He’s seriously surprised that no one’s snatched him up yet.

The rest of their group is just looking on at the two buffoons that can’t seem to figure out why either of them are there _together._ Stiles is at a loss himself, but since he’s decided to turn a new leaf and just welcome this thoroughly-cute alpha into his life, chooses not to dwell too much on it.

Derek still looks like he’s having a mental war with himself, something that Stiles is entirely too familiar with, and remains silent. It’s not the vibe that the group had planned for today, so Stiles turns up the music and hands Derek a plate, making sure that it’s piled with extra meat and potatoes.

He pushes it in the alpha’s direction, and it takes a minute, but once Derek grabs the plate, a small smile etches itself on his face. Stiles returns it with his own smile, digging into some fruit.

“So Derek, what brings you here?” Stiles asks as everyone returns to their previous conversations.

The alpha shrugs and shoves another bite in his mouth, “Got ‘nvited.” He groans and licks a bit of barbeque sauce off his lower lip. Stiles bites back a whimper. He bets that tongue would look especially good licking at the insides of his thighs.

Derek’s eyes flicker over to him with an indiscernible look before poking at both mounds of potato salad. They look identical, sure, but according to Lydia and Scott, they are _very different and how dare you compare them._

“Oh, wow. Please, elaborate less,” he mumbles and stares darkly at the alpha.

Derek, following suit, stares over at Isaac. The cherubic-looking blonde goes beet red and hides his face in his scarf. Which, by the way, is completely unnecessary seeing as how it’s a nice seventy-six degrees.

“Isaac?” Stiles pauses and places his plate down, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Did you invite Derek?”

“Not exactly,” the omega mutters as a girl plops down beside him. Stiles instantly recognizes the dark hair and sharp features, accompanied by hazel-green eyes.

“Cora.”

“Hey there, beta-boy. How’s it hanging?”

“And you’re here because…?”

The alpha bumps her shoulder into Isaac’s to which the omega flushes redder, and Stiles finally gets it. 

_Oh._

_Interesting._

Good for Isaac, in all honesty. Stiles had never really paid attention to the omega’s love life because he had never really showed any interest in people. Looking at how he blushes at the slightest contact with the younger Hale, though? It’s pretty obvious.

Stiles is pretty much in the same boat, though. Especially because Derek’s thigh is currently touching his, and it’s sending the most beautiful sparks up his spine. It’s taking everything in his power to not slide onto the alpha’s lap.

Which begs the question.

_Why is he here?_

“Ah, well, welcome. Make yourself at home,” he gestures to both Hales before resting his gaze on Derek, “both of you.”

The alpha seems to shudder as his ears go pink.

Maybe he needs Isaac’s scarf.

~

The picnic usually only lasts an hour or two, but for some reason, this time it lasts _five._ The ten of them talk about the most mundane things, and yet, it’s incredibly pleasant and warms Stiles’ heart. It surprises him; every pair around him is a configuration of alpha/omega. Despite this fact, though, Stiles has never felt more at ease.

He doesn’t dwell on the fact that a certain alpha may have something to do with it.

~

Coach Finstock must have a vendetta against his group. Or at least Stiles. Because for some godforsaken reason—flag football is on the agenda—and no one is excited about it. Well, that’s a lie. Jackson gave Stiles death eyes; ones he grew accustomed to after he realized that the omega was being courted by Lydia, and Stiles was oblivious to it and kept making moves. It’s not his fault that his sophomore-self had been a dumbass.

Granted, his senior-self isn’t all that different.

He keeps telling his dad that _he’s almost an adult, dad, the big 1-8._

To which his dad responds _you’re literally a child who poured sugar on your cereal this morning._

The added sugar gives him a boost, okay?

But here he is, groaning as Scott shoves a red penny into his hands and dreading his very existence. It’s a miracle that their entire group has the same PE period, because honestly, he doesn’t really want to deal with anyone else.

It also fucking sucks though, because there’s only nine of them, and while Stiles would _happily_ sit out, Finstock would rip him a new one. Now he’s sulking on the edge of the field, watching every alpha try to impress their omega by performing flips and tackling other alphas to the ground at the slightest hint of provocation.

It’s all very 12-year-old on the playground, and Stiles is _not_ impressed.

Wiping the blades of grass from his gym shorts, Stiles stands and jogs over to his group.

“I don’t want him on our team,” Jackson sasses, and Stiles is about to question who he’s talking about, but he’s pretty sure he knows.

“The feeling is mutual, dickface.”

Scott nudges him and whispers quietly, “Would you rather be on his team or get pushed down every chance he gets?”

“Oh, Jackson, pal o’mine, let’s kick some ass,” he grins a tight smile and gives him a thumbs-up.

Jackson merely huffs and changes his blue penny for a red one, handing one to Lydia, Scott, and Allison. At least Stiles has his best friend on his team. He doesn’t think he’d be able to beat Scott’s brute strength even if he tried.

The other team is comprised of Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Cora. The teams are essentially equal in strength, except for Stiles, but if they manage to call Greenburg over, it should be about the same. The guy is an omega, but he’s a pretty strong one at that.

Strengths of each gender have always been debated, and while omegas tend to have softer demeanors and alphas are, well, aggressive as fuck, their emotional extremes have balanced out over the last few decades.

Stiles just happens to be a little bit below average on strength, which has nothing to do with him being a beta. It’s just because he chooses not to work out and instead plays video games. 

What? He’s seventeen.

“So who’s going to tell Greenburg he can tag along?”

The group looks at each other uneasily before settling their eyes on something behind Stiles.

“What?”

“Well,” Scott starts, “we don’t really need Greenburg.”

Stiles crosses his arms and says, “And why’s that?”

“Because I’m playing.”

Stiles spins around and his mouth goes dry. Someone, somewhere, is playing a sick fucking joke on the beta.

Because Derek Hale is standing right behind him. And Stiles is pretty sure that he’s the one who just dropped the bomb.

“Excuse me?”

Derek shrugs and slips on a blue penny, “Cora texted me and said y’all needed a tenth person. I have a free period, so, I figured: why not?”

Stiles is 100% certain that Derek has never said that many words to him in a sentence before. It’s both scary, and a little arousing. He wishes he wasn’t wearing black mesh shorts right now.

“That doesn’t, I—oh whatever. Sure, join us.” He throws up his hands and points a finger at the group. “But now the teams are unbalanced, and I call preemptive-foul.”

“Yeah, please, pretend you’re upset,” Lydia mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she clasps her hands together, “let’s start.”

The game starts out pretty fair. Since they’re only playing two-hand touch, it’s not too complicated. Every touchdown is a point, and the first to seven wins. Since gym is a little bit over an hour long, it’s plenty of time to get to seven. And if no one does, it’s whoever wins by two points at the end of the match.

Their class has about fifty kids, so there’s five games going on at any time—which divides the soccer fields into five areas. The only reason Derek was able to join, Stiles gathers, is that someone had to sit out for an injury. 

Back to the game, though. It’s going fine. Each of their teams scores one point each, Jackson for their team—the kid is fucking fast—and Boyd from their opponents'—the kid is a fucking force to be reckoned with.

Everyone’s adrenaline is up, sweat is dripping down people’s faces, and there’s a growing tension on the field. So Stiles doesn’t think twice when Derek pushes him a little too hard on the next pass, causing him to stumble. It’s a side effect of two-hand touch, he supposes; sometimes people fall into each other, lunge a little. Either way, Stiles disregards it.

That is, until each team has three points, and Stiles actually falls down. Or, is pushed. Hard.

He’s face-down in the grass, legs aching from over-exertion, when he hears a whistle.

“Damn, Stilinski, nice legs,” Jackson retorts as he trots past him and toward where the ball is.

Stiles pushes himself up onto his hands and dares a look up. What he finds is Derek looking at him with a certain fierceness in his eyes. It’s one of the most peculiar things the beta has ever seen.

“Do you have a problem?” Stiles quips as he finally stands all the way up, rubbing at some of the grass stains.

Derek maintains his gaze until he backs away, jogging toward the end zone where his team is gathered.

Stiles doesn’t want to admit that the alpha enjoyed him on the ground. Partly because he himself enjoyed the look Derek gave him. So much so that his heart is jack rabbiting in his chest.

From there, things keep getting weirder, tenser. Derek takes it upon himself to match-up with Stiles in every play, no matter what. When Isaac even attempts it, Derek gives him this _look_ that has the omega scampering toward Cora. Stiles doesn’t know what his problem is.

Every play also causes an increasingly worrying interaction between them. The amount of times that Stiles is able to tag Derek out is minimal as it is, and Derek’s numerous tags aren’t really questionable. What strikes Stiles as fucking strange is how _aggressive_ Derek is being. He’s starting to butt heads with his own teammates, and every time he gets his hands on Stiles, it’s like he’ll never be able to do it again.

He gets this glazed over look in his eye the minute they see each other, and then Stiles is getting pushed down like nobody’s business. If it weren’t for the fact that this was sometimes part of the game, the beta would be more upset.

However, that all changes during one play, when the score is six to six. Stiles has his eyes on Erica—who’s been an amazing quarterback so far—because she’s looking tired, and there’s a serious chance that Stiles will be able to force a fumble.

Every sound around him fades out as he centers his focus in on her hands, watching the very moment that the football is snapped back. Isaac calls a few numbers out, the ball is released, and Stiles lurches forward.

It all happens within a few seconds.

Stiles punches forward to grab the ball, he feels a breath on his cheek, and then he’s being grabbed, twisted around, and forced to the ground.

As his back hits the turf, he lets out a wheeze, eyes settling on the figure above him.

It’s Derek.

With incredibly red eyes and bared teeth.

“Hnngh,” Stiles moans as he struggles to push himself up. It’s an impossible feat, though, because he realizes that Derek is sitting on him. With his thighs on either side of Stiles’ waist.

He’s fucking _straddling_ him.

The alpha looks thoroughly pissed, nostrils flaring and hands pinning Stiles’ wrists to the ground.

It’s like a fucking scene from his favorite porn. Except with Derek Hale. His ten-year crush.

_Wonderful._

“Der’k,” he groans and meets Derek’s eyes again, breath leaving him again for a completely _different_ reason.

Derek’s eyes are searching his, _looking_ for something. There’s a missing link between them, something Stiles can’t grasp, but something that he knows is contained within the depths of Derek’s crimson eyes. They’re so fucking hungry.

Stiles never realized that Derek wanted to _eat him_. 

“Stay,” Derek commands as he bends down and places his cheek next to Stiles’ neck. The warm breath from his mouth caresses Stiles’ skin, sending an unfiltered shiver throughout his body. Stiles is about to protest when he hears a rumble deep within Derek’s chest and feels his lips hover over his pulse point.

It takes Stiles everything in his body to not come his pants because Derek is _right there and breathing on him and if he just tilted his face to the side, then their lips would meet…_

It’s like a fucking lightbulb goes off in his brain when he realizes that this is a show of Derek’s dominance. Alphas will pin a fellow alpha in order to establish that they’re the best. But Stiles _isn’t_ an alpha, and he hasn’t been doing anything that would permit—

Oh, fuck.

“You win, Derek, you win. You bested me. You got me,” he pants to the alpha, hoping he’ll understand. He didn’t mean to challenge Derek during their game, but he apparently had. And Derek hadn’t liked it. “You got me, okay?”

The alpha releases a pleased growl before lifting himself off the beta and sticking his hand out. Stiles accepts it, standing himself up and looking over to his friends.

The entire group all has a look of surprise on their faces.

Same, guys.

Same.

~

Stiles has lived on this planet long enough to understand that he’s different. It’s taken him plenty of years to come to terms with that; no amount of over-the-counter slick or knot pump could make him into anything other than a beta. (Best believe he had tried both, though, _multiple times_.)

But what he hasn’t grown accustomed to, despite the overwhelming prevalence of it, is people making him feel _less than_. He knows he’s different, _he knows that_ , but nothing prepared him for the onslaught of torment from people at school and around town.

So as he’s walking into school, humming along to his favorite song, he never expects to get shoved from behind.

Hands grip his backpack and push him toward the pavement in front of him. He has enough presence to stop himself from falling, but when he looks up at the person who’s responsible, he scoffs.

“Why, hello, Jeffrey,” he salutes and rearranges his bag on his shoulders, tightening the straps. “I’m sure you want to apologize, yanno, for bumping into me?”

Jeffrey smirks, his friends stacked behind him. The testosterone and absolutely revolting scent coming off in waves around them is enough for Stiles to have to suppress a gag.

Jeffrey, like his friends, is a knothead. An unfiltered, piece-of-shit alpha, who—no shit—thinks he’s better than everyone else just because he has an additional part added to his dick. Yes, there’s still people like this, and yes, they target people like Stiles.

“Nah, queers don’t deserve an apology.”

“Wow, original. I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth. No, wait,” he pauses and meets the alpha’s eyes, “you probably do. It’s okay. We know you have a _special relationship_ with her.”

Everyone around them seems to go silent as they see the interaction before them. Intimidation is usually a grand part of Mating Month, but fighting for the sole purpose of just pissing someone off? Yeah, this wasn’t typical.

“I’m going to rip your fucking head off, beta bitch.” The alpha lurches forward with his fist as Stiles ducks.

The hit never comes.

Blinking his eyes open when he hears a groan that isn’t ripped from his own mouth, he stares up at the display above him. His mouth goes slack.

Because Derek fucking Hale, the literal incarnate of a wet dream, is holding Jeffrey’s fist in his hand. He looks fucking _pissed._

“I’m only going to say this once. I believe you owe Stiles an apology,” Derek asserts, pupils blown wide and a snarl on his face.

Jeffrey groans, his back bowing under the pressure of Derek’s fist, “That beta slut doesn’t deserve—.”

Faster than he can process, Derek has Jeffrey’s wrist pinned behind his own back, twisting his arm until he hears a crack. Jeffrey screams into the air, whimpering as he falls to the ground. Stiles can feel the anger coming off of Derek as he kneels down to speak directly into Jeffrey’s face.

“I said,” he pauses and growls softly, “apologize.”

“I’m sorry! Okay, I’m,” another groan, “sorry.” Jeffrey’s forehead is covered in sweat; his friends attempting to help him up and stabilize his arm.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

The pack of boys rushes away as if their tails are tucked tightly between their thighs. It’s a wonderful view for the beta, whose still semi-crouched. His knees hurt.

Derek extends his hand, which Stiles grasps desperately, and allows himself to be tugged up. He’s not really sure what the protocol of this is. Derek just handed Jeffrey’s ass up on a platter, and Stiles doesn’t know what to fucking do.

Is he happy? Oh, of course.

Fucking relieved that he doesn’t have to bandage his own bruises and cuts? Absolutely.

Majorly turned on? Unbelievably so.

But does he know what to do? No. Besides thanking Derek, nothing else really comes to mind. Especially because he never even asked the alpha to help. He just happened to be there at the right time, right? Strolling by and caught the action, stepping in at the right time.

That could be it, yes, but then why didn’t some of his other friends step in? One quick peek to his left, and he sees all of them. Staring, wordless, with their mouths agape and looks both smug (Lydia) and confused (Scott and literally everyone else).

“You okay?” Derek’s eyes are focused on him now, and Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so concerned for his well-being.

Stiles says, “Yeah, I uh, thanks to you. Really. Thank you.” As he sheepishly tucks his hands into his pockets, Derek smiles. A small smile, really. But the fact that Stiles put it there is enough to elicit butterflies in his stomach.

The alpha steps forward, rubbing the pads of his fingers in the crook of Stiles’ neck, no doubt rubbing away some of the dirt that probably stuck to him during the fight. A twinge of something impassioned sparks in Stiles’ heart—he’s in so much fucking trouble—because this alpha?

He’s in fucking love with this alpha.

And that’s only going to cause heartbreak, and crying, and every despicable feeling he’s tried to hide himself from since he discovered what pain was.

“I couldn’t let them hurt my m-you. Plus, they’re fucking assholes,” Derek states, picking up the bag he had apparently shrugged off before he thrust himself into the fight.

“Oh, you didn’t know? I’m a beacon for assholery. Stick around, you’ll probably have to deal with _swarms_ of them.”

Derek chuckles, and Stiles swoons, because it’s honestly one of the most beautiful things he’s ever heard in his _life._ “I look forward to it.”

Stiles nods, cocking his head to the side to gesture toward his friends. Derek gets the hint, following him. Seeing Derek with his friends is something he will never get used to even though it’s been happening ever since he gave him that cupcake all those weeks ago.

What really bugs him as they all walk to class is the fact that Stiles hopes Derek sticks around. 

Every time he looks at the alpha’s face, Stiles _hopes_ so hard that it hurts.

~

It’s the last day of the month when Stiles gets the biggest metaphorical kick to the crotch he’s ever gotten in his life.

The Friday morning starts pretty uneventful, if you consider dozens of couples accepting courting proposals like they’re no big deal as _uneventful._

Granted, Stiles knows this has been coming. He’s known since the first day of November when Scott bitched and moaned in homeroom. He’s known since alphas have followed around doe-eyed omegas and said omegas fell for the same alphas’ gifts. He’s known that he’d probably harbor an extreme amount of animosity toward all the couples that were getting together.

The funny thing was? He actually _didn’t_.

Yes, he could hate everyone who was finding their person, everyone who was getting their gifts, but he just… didn’t.

Truth was? Ever since Derek gave him that cupcake, it had Stiles _soaring._ He was paying so much attention to him, and Stiles’ poor little beta heart couldn’t handle it. In fact, they had even started _texting._

Granted, most of the texts were along the lines of _hey, what’s up, cool, and nice_ , but still, texts nonetheless.

So, at lunch, with Stiles eating his notorious turkey sandwich and minding his own business as the rest of his group pads along, nothing really plagues his mind.

Cue Lydia.

“Hey, buttmunch, how’s your day going?”

“Fuck you, too, Lyds. But if you’re genuinely asking, chem is kicking my ass,” he groans as he shoves a chip in his mouth.

“No, I mean, did you say yes?”

Quirking an eyebrow at her as he takes a swig of water, he responds, “Yes to what?”

Lydia opens her mouth to retort back when Derek and Cora slide into the empty seats on the bench, coincidentally directly across from Stiles. Oh, wonderful; not only does he get to eat some of his delicious food, but he gets to stare at a delicious _snack_. Yay.

“Hey, guys,” he smiles something toothily before looking back at his lunch. Any more focus on Derek, and his face will be redder than the tomato he cut up this morning. The beta absolutely doesn’t need that.

In other news, the group seems to be doing well in their endeavors. Allison is holding a bouquet of lilies that Scott gave her—for the record, Stiles helped pick them out. 

If their blatant canoodling is anything to go by, Stiles figures that Isaac accepted Cora’s courtship, too. It’s adorable, really. He’s the shyest kid around, and she most definitely is _not_. They just work.

“Stiles,” Cora grins and nudges Derek. “How are you?”

The beta swallows his bite before hunching over to get something from his bag, arm tensing as it extends as far as he can manage. Fingers coming into contact with the item in question, he pulls it out and places it in the middle of table.

“Fantastic. I think someone fucked up in giving their final courting gift today because I got these truffles in my locker, and they’re _amazing_ ,” he says as he opens the box. “Go ahead, have some.”

Cora frowns as the rest of their group basically _fights_ over the chocolate until there’s only one left. Stiles holds open the box and offers it to Derek.

“C’mon, big man, don’t tell me you hate chocolate,” Stiles states as he shakes the box in front of Derek’s face.

Said face is especially blank as he stares at the last chocolatey remnants in the box. If it wasn’t a completely ridiculous thought, it would seem like the chocolate personally offended him. But that’s just strange. Who gets offended by chocolate? 

Apparently Derek does, because before Stiles can say anything else, Derek is pushing himself away from the table and stomping off to god knows where. Okay, what?

“What’s his problem?”

Cora has her face in her hands, mumbling something indiscriminant as Isaac places his hand on her shoulder. Lydia, on the other hand, takes it upon herself to reach over and smack him over the head.

“You fucking dumbass.”

“What? What did I do?”

Lydia proceeds to tell him _exactly_ what he did.

Cue the metaphorical crotch kick.

~

The jeep hunkers along, zooming past the speed limit as much as its driver can manage. Its dashboard starts vibrating as soon as the speedometer reads _eighty_ , but since Stiles knows Roscoe can push a hundred, it’s not that big of a deal.

It’s only when his tires squeal as they slide on the dirt road leading up to the Preserve that he finally begins to doubt what he’s doing.

As soon as Lydia admitted what was going on, Stiles’ stomach fucking _dropped._ Anxiety had never hit him as hard and quick as in that exact moment, and he was _petrified_. He swore he had never been this fucking naïve when it came to someone’s intentions with him, but this takes the cake. Because he was an actual _dumbass._

All the signs had been there, one-by-one, making themselves known as plain-as-day to anyone who was paying attention. But because Stiles was the one who they were directed toward, it’s no surprise they weren’t recognized. In fact, he should get a metal for how oblivious he had been.

As he parks his car in the driveway and takes two deep breaths, hands gripping the steering wheel, he wills himself to just _get out of the car_.

 _No_ , he thinks, _I’m just going to live in this car, now. Yeah, that sounds good. The back has enough room for blankets and a pillow, and if he adds a bucket…_

Movement out of the corner of his eye grabs his attention and before he knows it, he’s looking at the face of one thoroughly sad-and-confused alpha.

Stiles takes one more breath and grabs the item laying in his passenger seat. He shoves it in his pocket and exits his car, making sure to not forget his keys. It’s not like he’d ever locked himself out before, but… okay, maybe once.

His legs carry himself over to the stairs leading up to the porch, and if it weren’t for the fact that his mind was on auto-pilot, he’d still be paralyzed by his car door.

But then he’s there, looking up at the man who stole his heart all those years ago, and the words just pour out.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were courting me, okay? First the cupcake, and how could I know you made that specifically for me? I thought that was extra, from your mom, or even Cora! And then that disco music? Derek, seriously, on what planet is _disco_ my favorite music?”

“You told Cora about that concert you went to and loved. It was disco,” he grumbles and scratches the back of his neck.

Stiles fucking face palms. As he pinches the bridge of his nose, he groans out, “Derek. That was _Panic! at the Disco._ As in Brendon Urie, the singer who made me realize I liked guys _way_ more than everyone around me?”

“Oh,” the alpha says softly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What was I supposed to say? _‘Derek why are you playing disco in my yard late at night? This is more my dad’s style, and you should come back later?’_ ” He says, arms flailing around as he prays to whatever god there is that this painful exchange ends soon.

Derek shrugs, and looking more defeated than ever, turns to head back inside.

“Don’t you dare. You’re going to stay and hear me out,” Stiles asserts as he saunters up the steps and into Derek’s space. They’re still a few feet apart, but Stiles can feel the heat radiating off the alpha’s body. It just makes him want to curl up in the alpha’s arms and never leave.

Stiles continues rambling before Derek can say anything in retaliation, “Then! Then you come to our monthly picnic, and, okay, that was strange in and of itself, but I thought you were just being nice! Hell, I offered you some of the barbeque I cooked, and you looked so _happy._ I thought you just wanted to join in because Cora was courting Isaac!”

“That’s not why.”

“Yeah, I know that now, dipshit.” Rolling his eyes, he stuffs his hand in his pocket and toys with the figurine.

“I’m going inside.”

“No, you’re not.” Stiles thrusts his finger into Derek’s chest. “Stay.”

Derek goes still and nods, focusing in on Stiles’ mouth. He subconsciously licks his lips before continuing.

“The football game. The fucking _football game,_ Derek. You legit tackled me to the ground, and why? Seriously, why?” He trails off as he sees Derek’s pained face. “Oh, man, _play fighting?_ Are you kidding me, Derek? I thought you were going to kill me. Legit maul me and rip out my throat, _with your teeth._ ”

Stiles hears Derek whine in the back of his throat before tugging at the edge of his shirt. “I would _never_ hurt you.” He’s fidgeting now, looking like he wants to claw himself out of his skin, and Stiles doesn’t blame him. The beta, too, is trying not to completely freak out at what he plans to do.

“Yeah, I know that _now._ At the time, I thought you wanted a piece of Stiles.”

Derek fucking chokes, neck flushing red.

“I mean…”

Stiles holds up his palm, shushing him, “Hold that thought.”

Derek nods, eyes still sullen.

“But then… Derek, you defended me. You stepped in and _stopped those guys._ You didn’t even hesitate before…doing what you did.”

“I didn’t want them to hurt you.” The alpha says, eyes flicking down as he plays with his shirt, nervous as hell.

“Yeah, I see that now, big guy. Lydia had to fucking drill it into my head _multiple times_ before I understood. And well, now I’m here.” He gestures to their surroundings, contemplating what his life has become.

If someone had told him that he’d be standing on Derek’s porch at the end of this month, he would’ve called them crazy. Maybe not now.

“Well, you could’ve just rejected me over the phone, you know? After what happened at lunch, I kind of figured it out myself. No need to rub it in,” the alpha mumbles, looking anywhere besides Stiles’ face.

“That’s not—what—Derek, shut up.”

Stiles grabs Derek’s Henley in his hands and crashes their lips together. It’s more than a little undignified, teeth clashing together, and Stiles’ tongue tracing along the seam of Derek’s bottom lip. Derek allows it, reciprocating the gesture. The alpha’s shoulders relax, too, as he grips Stiles’ hips in his hands, squeezing.

If Stiles were to guess, he would assume that Derek was reassuring himself that this was real. That _Stiles_ was real. The beta doesn’t blame him; he’s doing the same thing.

When he pulls away, heart thumping and chest heaving as he palms Derek’s chest, resting his fingers along his collarbones, he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Stiles, what,” Derek gulps in a lungful of air, resting his forehead on Stiles’, “what was that?”

“I’ve loved you since _forever_. Since I saw your dumb eyebrows and that time you rescued my kite from that tree. You returned it without a word, but it meant the world to me. But," Stiles pauses, tugging on his lip with his teeth, "I also knew I was just a beta. So, I never thought…” He huffs, voice pained.

Derek grips his jaw in his hand, thumb brushing along his cheek slowly. It feels like heaven; Derek’s fingers are so gentle, so unlike anything he expected them to be.

“You’re perfect, Stiles. You don’t need to be an omega for me to see that.” Derek pauses as he dips down and places a wet kiss on Stiles’ lips. It’s sloppy and messy and so, so perfect.

“Fuck, I’ve been gone on you since you explained the aerodynamics behind how a kite functions.” Derek chuckles as he leans in to press another kiss to Stiles’ nose. “How a seven-year-old knew that is beyond me, though.”

Stiles’ face warms as he whispers, “My dad likes to watch those air shows.”

“Mhm,” another kiss, this time a chaste one on his lips, “makes sense.”

Stiles shivers, withdrawing his hand from Derek’s chest to reach into his pocket and draw out that small figurine.

It’s a small, adorable, black wolf.

Derek’s eyes go wide, and he grips Stiles’ hips harder. Stiles hopes to whatever being that’s watching him that he leaves bruises. Oh god, he _hopes._

“Is this you accepting—?”

Stiles nods, twirling the figurine between his index finger and thumb.

“Fuck yeah it is.”

The beta wonders how they’ll ever work out. How they’ll figure out their relationship in this world of theirs.

But as his arms wrap around Derek’s neck, the figurine clutched tightly in his fist and Derek’s lips on his, he just knows they will.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Content Alert:**  
>  A non-main character calls Stiles a few gay slurs during a fight. Derek steps in and kicks the character's ass. But as always, take care of yourself.
> 
>  **Other** :  
> If anyone's wondering, Derek exhibited the following courting behaviors:  
> 1) Ability to Provide (Cupcake)  
> 2) Ability to Entertain (Music)  
> 3) Effort to join pack/family (Picnic)  
> 4) Show of Dominance/Playfighting (Football)  
> 5) Ability to Protect (Fight)  
> 6) Offer of Courtship (Chocolates)
> 
> hopefully you all loved it!
> 
> comment, kudos, and bookmark :)


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